


The Big Mistake

by Sioux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sioux/pseuds/Sioux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock freaks out before breakfast.  Post Reichenback Falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Big Mistake

The Big Mistake

Feedback always appreciated at sioux_s@hotmail.com

 

‘Oh God! What have I done? How could I have been so stupid? Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!’ he hissed, careful to keep his voice down. Sherlock’s dressing gown fluttered out behind him as he stalked the perimeter of the lounge, first one way then the other. His fists were clenched, whether they were down by his side or up near his face. He picked up his violin then put it down again, unwilling to risk the instrument.

‘This is the worst mistake I have ever made. What was I thinking,’ he whispered as he sat down in the fireside chair and put his head in hands. His hands slowly made their way through his hair until he was sitting with his head almost on his knees and both hands clasped behind his neck. His eyes were darting around the room, looking for a means of escape but he couldn’t escape this was a trap of his own making.

Suddenly the shower switched off, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Sherlock held his breath as the bathroom door banged open releasing clouds of steam into the hall. John popped his head around the bathroom door and shouted, 

‘Sherlock, have you put the coffee on?’

Sherlock jumped to his feet as if he’d received an electric shock from the chair.

‘Umm, no, er, yes?’

John regarded him.

‘You will let me know when you’ve decided which it is, won’t you?’

‘Yes!’

John grinned as he disappeared back inside the steam filled room.

For at least a full minute Sherlock didn’t move. He stood in the middle of the lounge staring at the bathroom door like a deer caught in headlights then thought, coffee. He shot into the kitchen and took the jug out of the coffee maker, throwing the dregs of the brew they’d had last night – oh God, last night – down the sink. His hands started to shake and sweat as he swilled the jug around under the tap then dropped it in the sink. Rescuing the luckily unbroken jug he put it down on the work surface, then detached the stainless steel reservoir from the back of the machine. This fared even less well than the jug. He couldn’t seem to keep hold of it with his hands being damp from swilling out the jug. It clanged in the sink for the sixth time before he used his dressing gown to dry his hands and unsteadily filled it from the cold tap. It was a minor miracle when he reattached it to the coffee machine without mishap.

Filters and fresh coffee. Filters, where the hell had John put the filters? Quickly he checked his watch, eight minutes. John never took more than twelve minutes to shave after his shower. Sherlock swallowed hard. ‘Oh God! He would be doomed to the singular lonely existence he’d endured before John had entered his life. It hadn’t seemed so bad then because he hadn’t known how different it could be. Where the bloody hell were those blasted filters?

‘Cupboard, top right,’ John said, answering his unspoken thought. 

Sherlock jumped, startled and looked around. John was dressed in shirt and trousers but his feet were bare and his hair was wet.

John reached up into the cupboard above his head and pulled out a packet of coffee and proceeded to open it with his teeth then held out his hand for filter.

Slowly Sherlock advanced towards him holding out the packet like a charm to ward off a frightening monster.

Efficiently John dumped the old filter with the grounds in the recycling bin, fitted the new one, poured in the fresh ground coffee and switched on the machine whilst Sherlock stood beside him, his hands in front of his chest, fingers twitching.

John smiled up at him, reached up and put his hand behind Sherlock’s head and pulled him down the necessary few inches, gave him a no nonsense kiss on the lips and said,

‘Morning Sherlock. What do you want for breakfast?’

Sherlock was still standing looking down at the place where John had been standing when he’d kissed him. A smile of absolutely relief was lighting his face even spreading to his eyes.

Of course they could do this!


End file.
